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)EWDROPS 



IN 



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Dewdrops 



IN 



The Valley 



By MRS. J. P. R. HANLY PERRY 




NEW YORK 
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR 

1892 



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Copyright, 1892, by 

MRS. J. P. R. HANLY PERRY, 

Ocean Grove, N. J. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

At the Ocean Grove Beach, .... 5 

In Memoriam, ....... 7 

Watching and Waiting, ..... 9 

Our Precious Susie is Dying, . . . .12 

Pulaskie, . . . . . . . 13 

After the Battle, ..... 15 

A Mother's Sorrow, . . . . . 18 

The Old Homestead, . . . . .21 

Bright Visions, ...... 27 

To All who Weep for Loved Ones Gathered Home, . 29 

John B. Gough, ...... 31 

Blessings, . . . . . . .33 

The Voice of Jesus, ..... 34 

Trusting, . . . . . . .35 

I Know not the Day, ..... 36 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 



AT THE OCEAN GROVE BEACH, 

May 27, 1892. 

I atsi standing alone by the restless sea,- 

All alone on the beaten strand ; 
And the sighing winds are bringing to me 

Sweet sounds from a distant land. 

For my thoughts float beyond the rolling waves, 
Where the ransomed are gathering home; 

And I look far away from the silent graves, 
Where death has been conquered and shorn. 

Yet sad is the thought that never again 

Dear faces, so beaming and bright, 
Will look into mine with a whispered refrain, 

" God's dealings are always right." 

Ah ! these are the friends that we miss in the strife 
Where the battle grows heavy and sore, 

Where the strength of their faith shone out in their life, 
As the ensign of heaven they bore. 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 



We will need the clear ring of their bugle note, 

That gave no uncertain sound, 
And feel the loss of their saber stroke, 

That sent death through the enemies' ground. 

But who dares to say that the good and the grand, 
That have vanished like stars from our sight, 

Are not leading still, in a higher command, 
Than when here 'mid the shadows of night ? 

And it does seem to me that our souls may hear 

Their voices, more sweet than of old, 
Our lives may grow better, our friendships more dear. 

As they beckon us on to the fold. 

In the hush of God's Spirit we may stand side by side, 

And join in the worship and praise 
That will still ring out o'er the drifting tide, 

To him, the Ancient of days. 

But, O! how much sweeter their songs are to-day 

Than any that mortals can sing; 
And grander and purer the homage they pay 

To Jesus, their Saviour and King. 

It will not be long ere we who now wait 

On the shores of time here below 
Will be welcomed and met at the golden gate, 

If our souls are made whiter than snow. 

The sorrows of earth will be left far behind, 

The mist and the clouds rolled away; 
We will spring into life in that beautiful clime, 

A life that will never decay. 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 



IN-MEMORIAM. 

Written for the Memorial Services of Mrs. Sarah J. C. Downs, held in St. 
Paul's Methodist Episcopal Church, Ocean Grove, Sabbath, November 
29, 1891. 

Over the host of the white ribbon army 

Surges a tide of sorrow to-day; 
Out of the ranks to a clime pure and balmy 

A great light and leader is taken away. 

Under the shadow of loss and bereavement 
Thousands are offering their tribute of love 

To her whose clear judgment and wondrous achievement 
Has brought to New Jersey rich gifts from above. 

Over her archways a still hand is lifted, 

Pointing to battlefields dusty and worn, 
Where with God's guidance the crusade was shifted, 

Till the last foe was routed, defeated, and shorn. 

Alas for ourselves, is the cry that's ascending 

From hearts bowed and broken at sorrow's dark shrine; 

With lips mute in anguish and silence we're bending 
To ask the dear Saviour to make us resigned. 

O Death, thou art greedy, so hard and relentless, 
To tear from our hearts our own Sarah Downs; 

But God is the victor, 'tis he that's bereft us, 

And shows us by faith her reward and her crown. 

Ah, here, precious sister, in hearts true and loyal, 
Thy mem'ry's sweet fragrance shall ne'er pass away; 

Thy works have reared for thee a monument royal, 
That cannot be marred by change or decay. 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY: 



O thou blessed Jesus, whose tears were once mingled 
With sisters that wept o'er a fresh opened tomb, 

Speak thou unto us, let our eyes catch the signal, 
That points from the grave to eternity's bloom. 

But, O, how much darker the deep cloud of sorrow 
Hangs over the homes in the East and the West, 

Over whose portals there dawns no to-morrow, 
When mother will come with her children to rest. 

But look up, ye sons, and fond loving daughters, 

To the mansion of light, there she's waiting for thee ; 

Her dear arms are reaching above the dark waters, 
To gather her " bairns to her ain countrie." 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 



WATCHING AND WAITING. 

Years have come and gone since my brave and only boy, 
slipping his hand out of mine and placing it with confidence 
into the strong hand of his waiting Guide whom he had loved 
and trusted from early childhood, entered the shadowy vail 
with his farewell kiss still warm upon my lips, while I with 
a heart breaking and bleeding with an agony that none, per- 
haps, but a mother can fully understand, watched this sol- 
emn passing beyond. To me came the darkness and the sor- 
row; to him, the halo and the glory. To me, the watching 
and the waiting; to him, the blessed reality of home, rest, and 
heaven. 

Like gems rare and pure his precious words still live and 
burn in the hidden chambers of my soul, and the great 
mother heart, taking many of these dear words, wove them 
with sobs and tears into the following poem. Under the 
shadow of that great grief they were written as a solace and 
a balm for my own broken spirit, and now with tender 
thoughts and feelings I bring them for the first time before 
the public eye and give them a place with my other poems, 
hoping and trusting that other dear mothers who have 
known this same agony of parting may with me find comfort 
in the promises of God and in some sweet messages echoed 
back from the eternal shore. 

Mother, mother, I am passing through the misty valley now, 
For I feel its chilling dampness and its breath is on my brow; 
And I hear the cold waves lashing by that river dark and 

drear, 
Where my feet will soon be pressing, where I'll part with all 

that's here. 



io DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 

All thy loving care, my mother, like a mantle soft and sweet, 
Folds around me in this hour, strengthens my poor weary feet 
For their last sad mournful journey over Jordan's stormy tide, 
Where the waves are parting for me, and where Jesus is my 
guide. 

I have longed to live, my mother, ah! perhaps for thy dear 

sake, 
For I know when I have left thee what a void my loss will 

make ; 
3Iany hopes with me will perish, and thy fond dreams will 

be o'er; 
Thou wilt be so sad and desolate on life's dark and lonely 

shore. 

But, my precious, loving mother, let thy bleeding heart grow 

calm, 
Let the bright reward that waits thee be a solace and a balm; 
Let the blessings of thy darling, rich with gratitude and love, 
Lift thy soul from out the furnace, fasten it on things above. 

Ah ! I know that thou wilt miss me, for thy heart has fondly 
clung 

To thy child, though heedless sometimes, yet to thee a faith- 
ful son; 

For thy earnest, faithful prayers, like a magnet to my soul, 

Drew my spirit to its haven, steered it safe past every shoal; 

Led me close up to my Saviour, placed my trembling hand in 

his ; 
Now I'm clinging close to Jesus; mother, mother, think of this. 
Let it comfort you in sorrow, let it wipe away each tear, 
That your loved one in the conflict felt no terror, knew no fear. 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. u 

Oft I've thought my sainted father hovered o'er my youth- 
ful path, 

Though I can but just remember when I gazed upon him last; 

Yet his voice was ne'er forgotten, nor that hand that pressed 
my brow, 

And the prayer that he whispered cheers my spirit even now. 

That last dying prayer is answered, God has blessed his only son, 

And is gathering him so early with that long-mourned ab- 
sent one, 

With the jewels that were taken from our once bright Eden 
here, 

Where you'll find them all, my mother, in that fold beyond 
all care. 

Ah! I'm very weary, mother, though I have not traveled long; 
Only nineteen summers, mother, since I listened to the song 
Of the spring birds' early welcome as they sang around our 

home; 
Now they're flying southward, mother, I with them will soon 

be gone. 

Not to lands where clouds and sunshine intermingle day by day, 
Nor to climes where orange blossoms only bloom and then 

decay ; 
For the land that I am gaining ne'er has felt one bitter blast, 
And the joys that there await me will forever, ever last. 

Our next meeting, precious mother, will be on that blissful 

shore, 
Where I'll wait and watch thy coming when thy sorrowing 

life is o'er. 
Blessed Saviour, I am ready ; mother, sister, all, good night, 
It is morning with my spirit, in the valley all is light. 



12 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 

OUR PRECIOUS SUSIE IS DYING. 
Thus wrote a sorrowing sister as she watched the going 
out of a bright young life, the household pet, a young and 
beautiful girl of seventeen. I immediately replied to the sad 
message in the following lines, but when they were received 
that cherished one had passed the misty vail, had entered 
the fold, and seemed to be whispering back to those who 
wept and mourned her loss, " Weep not for me, for I am 
safe in the arms of Jesus." 

Can it be that she is fading, 

That her feet will soon be making 

Music o'er all that bright and starry floor, 

Where a mother stands to greet her, 

Brothers, sisters wait to meet her, 

And a loving Saviour's welcome thrill her soul 

For evermore ? 
Do not say that she is dying — 
Her young soul is only sighing 
For the friendship of the angels who have watched her from 

the shore. 
Now they stand so close beside her, 
Now they wait in joy to guide her 
Through the mist of that dark valley, robbed of terror 

Evermore. 
Hear ye not the fluttering motion 
Of those spirits from the ocean 

Of eternity's broad waters, as they watch beside her door? 
With their wings all bathed in glory, 
Soft they chant the sacred story: 
Jesus died to clothe such jewels with new beauty 

Evermore. 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 13 

And, while watching by her pillow, 
Soft they whisper, not a billow 

Shall engulf a soul that Jesus saved in childhood's hour; 
When she knelt beside the altar, 
Her firm soul that did not falter 

Then was sealed for God and heaven, sealed for him 

For evermore. 



PULASKIE. 

On the lonely isle of Tybec, 

Where the heaving billows break, 

And the thousand feathered songsters 
Day and night their music make, 

Where the tangled mossy branches 
Of the live oak sweep the ground, 

And the pine looks out in silence 
On the dreary waste around; 

There, where clustering vines and flowers 
Link their tendrils firm and strong, 

There the weary, dying soldier 
Caught the angels' welcome song 

After dreary nights of labor 
In the marshes damp and low, 

Where the pestilence and fever 
Struck the sad and fatal blow. 

Long before the day of battle 

Graves of heroes marked that shore, 

Scores of lofty, noble spirits 

Whose brave works on earth were o'er, 



i 4 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 

All unconscious of the glory 

They had twined around the name 

Of the hero of Pulaskie 

Who had wiped away her shame. 

From her battered walls and rampart 
Rolled the shout of victory won, 

And a nation rose to offer 
Homage to her brilliant son; 

While the name of those brave spirits 
Who had nobly done their part 

Ne'er were known except in circles 
Where their mem'ry filled the heart. 



DEVVDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 15 

AFTER THE BATTLE. 
The very sands sent up a breath 
Freighted with poison and with death ; 
And all along that beaten shore, 
Where late was heard the battle's roar, 
A stillness reigned, so hushed and drear 
That hearts grew faint, appalled by fear. 
The weary sentinel at his post 
Moved like some specter walking ghost. 
So pale, so chiseled was his face, 
So lost was every natural trace, 
So ghastly was his sunken eye, 
Friend after friend might pass him by, 
And little dream that years before 
They'd played beside each other's door. 
Dim visions of the distant past 
Loomed up like dreams that did not last, 
Leaving upon their weary brain 
A feeling close akin to pain. 
A gloomy shadow of despair 
Was thrown o'er every creature there; 
Even the birds within the trees 
Looked out in silence o'er the seas; 
Their very warblings seemed so sad, 
Like mournful strains above the dead. 
The tall palmettoes' branches waved 
Where heroes fell beneath their shade, 
Or bent their palm-leaved branches low, 
As if they felt the weight of woe 
That fell on many a bleeding heart 
In distant homes so sad and dark, 



16 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 

Where mourners sat with hearts so filled 

With grief and sorrow that it chilled 

Each sympathizing friend that came 

To speak of hope or breathe the name 

Of their dear ones who in the strife 

Sealed their pure loyalty with life, 

Leaving no message to be borne 

To those who watched each night and morn, 

And wept and looked, but looked in vain, 

To clasp them to their hearts again. 

Ah ! sad those days when every gale 

Sobbed out its bitter, mournful wail; 

Grief like a plague preyed hard and sore 

On town and city, till it bore 

A nation pleading to the throne 

For Christ to hear the piteous moan 

That rose, like incense to the skies, 

From altars where the holiest ties 

Were rent and severed, till we stood 

A nation bathed in crimson blood ; 

And there, like ancient Israel, we 

Were led as ne'er before to see 

God's vengeance poured upon our land 

While heedless of his just command. 

Alas, alas! that greed should stain 

A nation's record, and defame 

A land that God decreed as free 

As streams that roll toward the sea; 

A land of freedom! thus we sung, 

And to the breeze our banner flung, 

Bidding all nations look and see 

The glory of our liberty. 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 17 

From east to west the song arose, 
From north to south we felt repose, 
And heeded not the gathering storm 
Whose muttering thunders breathed alarm. 
Through many a home the line was drawn, 
For North or South the watchword rung, 
Till those who at one mother's knee 
Had lisped their prayers in infancy 
Were sundered far by strife and hate, 
That pressed them onward to a fate 
So sad and sorrowing, that to me 
It dimmed the crown of victory. 
How oft in thoughts I move again 
Among the wounded and the slain, 
And catch the last sweet message home 
From out the shadows and the gloom — 
Some farewell word for mother dear 
To soothe and help 'mid bitter tears; 
Some loving token for the true, 
Brave girl that loved the boy in blue ; 
Some cheering words for wives at home, 
Into whose hearts they knew would come 
A wound so deep that time itself 
Misfit fail to heal their sore distress. 
Yet 'mid the pangs of death 'twas sweet 
To know that they again would meet 
Beyond all battlefields of life — 
Beyond the conflicts and the strife. 
And in this hope their souls were blest, 
For Christ was there to give them rest. 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 



A MOTHER'S SORROW. 
Amid a nation's mourning, when so many expressions of 
grief fell from the lips of thousands at the sad death of our 
noble Garfield, perhaps there was nothing that touched the 
human soul more tenderly or left a longer and deeper lodg- 
ment in the great feeling heart of the country than the plain, 
simple, yet pathetic words of that aged mother, who, amid 
the honors shown the departed president at Cleveland, 0. 2 
previous to bearing his remains to their last resting-place, 
seemed lost to everything around her, and, apparently forget- 
ful of all else save her boy, cried out from the depths of her 
hungry soul, " O ! I must see his face, for he is my own boy, 
you know." 

Alas ! how empty and inadequate all the pomp and glory 
with which an appreciative nation strives to embalm its hon- 
ored dead. Yes, all the show and grandeur fell far short of 
satisfying that mother heart, whose touching words rang 
deeply through my own soul, at which time the poem was 
written. 

O ! I must gaze upon his face, 

Though changed that face may be; 
My eyes though dim will surely trace 
Some look that's dear to me. 

My hungry heart craves one last look 

On him, my pride and joy; 
Ah ! my poor heart is well nigh broke 

For him, my own dear boy. 

Think not though years, long years have past, 

Since he, the blessed child, 
Sat pondering o'er his evening task, 

While I my needle plied, 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 19 

That I can e'er forget the smile 

He gave so oft to me, 
My weary hours he would beguile 

While sitting at my knee. 

All else may sweep from this poor brain, 

All else may be forgot, 
But memory keeps one steady train 

Clear back to that dear spot, 

Where we so oft together sat, 

Shut in alone with God; 
Ah! those sweet hours they cheer me yet, 

AVhile trembling 'neath this rod. 

Friends thought us poor, they little dreamed 

What wealth lay hid away 
Beneath that roof where angels came 

To chant their sweetest lay. 

How gladly would I live again 

Those struggling years of care; 
5 T\vas not as hard as this dull pain 

That lies deep buried here. 

It would not smother out my breath 

Like that deep tolling bell, 
That tells me of my darling's death 

In each sad sobbing knell. 

How like a dream, a painful dream, 

This throng appears to me, 
The drooping flags, the music's strains, 

Like mist upon the sea, 



20 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 



Through which I peer and only ask 

To see my boy once more, 
My feeble arms stretch out to clasp 

That form like days of yore. 

Lead me, O, lead me to the place 

Where rests his silent form, 
And let me gaze upon his face, 

It cannot do me harm. 

Let me just lay my weary head 
One moment near his heart; 

My boy, my noble boy, though dead, 
How hard from thee to part. 

Dead, did I say ? O ! never more 

Let me express that word; 
He lives, he moves from shore to shore, 

His voice will still be heard. 

He'll come to me, I know he will, 

In many a lonely hour, 
"When all things else are hushed and still 

I'll feel his soothing power. 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 21 



THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 

Yes, there it stood, so dark and drear, 

That old farm house, with many a sear 

From time's rough hand, that long had pressed 

That old, old home to its cold breast, 

Until it stood at that dim hour 

Wrapped in a mantle of strange power; 

While the gray twilight, shadowing o'er, 

Sent phantoms stealing from the door; 

And from each window seemed to come 

Some spirit that once called it home. 

Through the dim vista of the past 

They pointed back, as if to clasp 

Some treasured idol that once shone 

In all its luster round that home. 

The blushing bride, like some fair queen, 

Came gliding past me in that scene, 

Leaning with pride upon the arm 

Of her proud lord, whose stately form 

Bowed gracefully to every guest, 

Who, filled with joy, around him pressed 

To give the fair young bride who came 

A welcome in her husband's name. 

For her that home had reared its head; 

For her rich bounties had been spread; 

And he who brought that noble bride 

To crown and bless his fireside 

Felt richly paid for all his care 

To see her bright and happy there. 

Sometimes a tear would dim her eye, 

Her breast heave tip a struggling sigh, 



22 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 

As thoughts of dear ones o'er the sea 

Came to her soul like melody 

From some lone harp, whose trembling strain 

Brought back the past all fresh again. 

These were but shadows on her face, 

That failed to find a hiding-place 

In the pure heart, whose inner life 

Made her a true and faithful wife. 

Softly time touched that forehead fair, 

And twined those flaxen locks of hair, 

With here and there a silver thread 

That shone like pearls around her head; 

While noble sons and daughters rose 

To call her blessed ere day had closed; 

And her fond husband kissed her brow, 

And whispered, Thou art dearer now 

Than when I won that heart of thine 

And asked thee to be ever mine. 

Calmly they glided side by side, 

So peacefully o'er time's rough tide, 

Until they stood upon its shore 

As if they both would travel o'er 

To that fair city, just in view, 

Without that solemn word, Adieu. 

But as they stood the King drew near, 

Unclasped their hands, hushed every fear; 

One farewell kiss was quickly given, 

And that fond wife was crowned in heaven. 

And thus the first dark storm arose 

To break the quiet and repose 

That nestled like a gentle dove 

In that bright home of ease and love, 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 23 

Leaving its mildew on the heart 

Of him who seemed to stand apart 

From every gay and festive throng, 

As if from out his life had gone 

That glowing light that cheered his way 

And turned all darkness into day. 

Ah ! sad indeed was it to see 

That strong and stately parent tree 

Writhing beneath the lightning stroke, 

As if his heart fore'er was broke. 

And yet as time passed slowly by 

It left bright tinges in his sky, 

And shed at least a mellow light 

To guide him through the gloom of night; 

But, O, it ne'er brought back again 

That link within the broken chain. 

And when his last fond daughter stood 

In her fresh morn of womanhood, 

And sweetly gave herself away, 

Vowing to honor and obey 

The stranger who in love had come 

To bear her to his distant home, 

That father pressed his happy child 

One moment to his heart and smiled, 

Breathing his blessings on her head, 

And then his thoughts were with his dead. 

For, O, how swift on memory's wing 

Came back the day in that bright spring 

When his own bosom swelled with pride 

In bearing back his chosen bride 

To his own home, that long was blessed 

With that rich treasure he possessed. 



24 DEWDROPS TN THE VALLEY. 

But now within that silent hall, 
That echoed back his own footfall, 
A mournful stillness seems to reign 
Which fills his lonely heart with pain; 
For now no merry child is seen 
In sportive play upon the green. 
All, all were gone, each worthy son 
And faithful daughter, all save one. 
One son alone is all that's left 
In that large hand so richly blessed, 
So trained to justice and to truth 
Through all the tempted years of youth. 
Not in a cold and formal style, 
That hardens even a trusting child, 
But love like fountains, rich and clear, 
Watered each heart with earnest prayer, 
Which, like the sunshine and the rain, 
Brought forth a harvest rich in grain. 
This was the motto each one wore 
When leaving that paternal door : 
" Do unto all mankind as you 
Would have each one do unto you," 
And ne'er forget that God is nigh 
To watch you with a loving eye, 
And guide you with a tender hand, 
If you obey his just command. 
These faithful lessons were not lost 
Upon their lives; for like a host 
They went afar and scattered wide — 
Some by the ocean's restless tide, 
Some far toward the setting sun, 
And others where the busy hum 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 25 

Of active life forever rose 

Without one day of calm repose; 

And one upon the ocean's wave 

Went forth with courage true and brave, 

Planting his standard clear and high, 

On which he kept a steady eye, 

And never aimed beneath the mark, 

No matter if his way grew dark. 

Onward, still onward through the gale, 

His steady bark bent every sail. 

While years rolled on he earned a name 

That shone upon the list of fame; 

Then, like a shock of grain full ripe, 

He passed beyond all mortal sight, 

Leaving a wife and children dear 

Alone within this world so drear. 

Though blessed from earth's abundant store 

With wealth that drove want from their door, 

Yet O, how dark, how drear was life 

To that frail, trembling, loving wife, 

When out in the cold world and storm 

She missed the strength of that strong arm, 

That, like a sheltering tower, had spread 

A loving shelter o'er her head. 

How short life's sunniest days appear! 

How soon they're hid in clouds and tears! 

How quick the clear and brightest morn 

Is followed by the raging storm, 

And all along life's beaten path 

We see some victims of its wrath! 

Sadly I read these records o'er 

Of those who played beside this door, 



26 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 

And wait beneath these towering trees 
To catch upon the passing breeze 
Some voice from out the spirit land, 
Some message from that cherished band, 
Some token that my heart shall know 
That those I fondly loved belo^ 
Will know me on that peaceful shore, 
And come to bid me welcome o'er. 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 27 



BRIGHT VISIONS. 

Far back in the past, like a vision, I see 

A child of the forest 'neath the shade of a tree ; 

With her little brown feet half hid in the sod, 

And her eyes turned to heaven as if dreaming of God. 

Her light tresses wave unbound in the air, 
And calm is her brow, too youthful for care ; 
Her sun-burnt hands are clasped on her breast, 
As if striving to hush some wild thoughts to rest. 

The murmuring stream that flows at her feet 

Has music that almost makes her weep ; 

While the soft swaying branches of maple and pine 

Sound strange and unearthly in their soft vesper chime. 

And the shadows that creep over meadow and dale 
Seem coming to whisper some sorrowful tale ; 
While the trembling rays of the fast setting sun 
Strange phantoms and thoughts in her bosom have flung. 

All wrapt in a vision she cannot reveal, 

The bright forms of angels seem round her to steal, 

Till in her young soul the deep buried fire 

Is fanned to a flame that burns clearer and higher. 

Ah ! then, even then her soul seemed to feel 
The blast that was gathering o'er life's weary field, 
And the chill of the storm, like the avalanche breath, 
Seemed wrapping her then in its mantle of death. 



28 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 

O, child of the forest, couldst thou but have seen 
The dark years of sorrow that would intervene 
'Twixt thee and the grave, all light would have fled, 
And thorns would have been the wreath for thy head. 

Yet under the cloud I saw thy true soul 
Gleaning up from the billows rich treasures untold, 
Precious pearls that the storms heaved up from the deep, 
And laid in thy bosom, rare jewels to keep. 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 29 



TO ALL WHO WEEP FOR LOVED ONES GATHERED HOME. 

Look away from yourself, from your sorrows though deep, 

From the world that is fleeting and vain, 
Place your hand into His who has promised to keep 

Every soul who will honor his name. 

Come up from the valley, where darkness and gloom 

Fold their mantles of sadness around 
The poor stricken ones, who peer in the tomb 

As if their dear ones could be found. 

I would not persuade thee, nor ask thee to turn 

From treasures held sacred and dear ; 
Like beautiful lights I would have them to burn, 

To bless thee and comfort thee here. 

O, pure in thy heart keep the love that once blessed 
And crowned thee with peace and content, 

But never forget there's a home of sweet rest, 
Where treasures are given, not lent. 

Think not of thy dear ones as hid in the grave, 

'Tis the mortal alone that is there ; 
The world's great Redeemer is mighty to save> 

On him cast your burdens of care. 

He stands, precious ones, to bear all your grief, 

He waits to give comfort and rest ; 
He's calling so sweetly, " I'll give thee relief, 

O, come unto me and be blessed." 



3 o DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 

Let each vanished pleasure, each joy of the past, 

Be as stepping-stones up to the skies ; 
Not as something that's lost and gone from thy grasp, 

Never more to gladden thine eyes. 

I would have them flash out as lights to that home 

Where joys never vanish away, 
Where the heart never sighs, never utters one moan, 

Where clouds never darken the day. 

I would have thee take up in Gethsemane's shade 

The cup that is given thee there ; 
It is only one glimpse of the price that was paid 

To lift thee from utter despair. 

Then shrink not away from this Hand that will guide 
Through the valley, though dreary and dark ; 

O, look up, though fainting, cling close to his side, 
He's your shelter, your hope, and your ark. 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 3 r 



JOHN B. GOUGH. 

Written for the memorial services of John B. Gough, held in the Baptist 
Church at Asbury Park, under the auspices of the Neptune Reform 
Club and Woman's Christian Temperance Union of Asbury Park and 
Ocean Grove. 

'Tis meet that we should gather here, 

With tender, hallowed thoughts, 
For one whose loving words of cheer 

Helped many a fainting heart. 

To him our cause was sacred, 

He never lost his faith 
In woman's holy mission 

To save a rum-cursed race. 

Who knows but what his ransomed soul, 
Clothed with new power and might, 

To press us all in battle line, 
To struggle for the right ? 

He's only laid his weapons down 

For other hands to grasp ; 
He waves the palm and wears the crown, 

He's reached his home at last. 

But think ye that a soul like his, 

So grand, so broad, and good, 
Has ceased its work of love to bless 

The human brotherhood? 

God's vital breath can ne'er go out, 
Though breathed through human lips ; 

He'll shield the truth from ev'ry doubt 
While time and heaven exist. 



2,2 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 

The host, the myriad host above, 

Join hands with us below, 
If on we're marching, moved by love, 

To crush man's bitterest foe. 

God leads the way, and shadowy hands 

Wave us to whitened fields, 
At home, abroad, yes, every land 

Rings out this loud appeal. 

Rise, mothers, rise ! ere your dear sons 
Drift off on sin's dark waves, 

Led downward by the friends of rum 
To dark and starless graves. 

Strike, mothers, strike ! these towering walls, 

Hemmed in by legal right, 
They tremble now, and they must fall 

Before God's power and might. 

Help, brothers, help ! your arms are strong 
To pierce rum's bulwarks through ; 

Your ballots count for right or wrong, 
Which will you have them do ? 

Thou loving Christ, speak, speak this day, 
To every heart and soul that's here ; 

Let every hand prepare the way 

That brings the Prince of glory near. 

Ride on, triumphant King of kings, 
Our eyes are fixed alone on thee ; 

The soft gray light of morning brings 
The herald of our libertv! 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 33 



BLESSINGS. 

All life's sorrows may prove blessings 

If we strive to bear them right, 
Watching, waiting for the lessons 

God would teach us mid the night. 

We may find the darkest shadows 

Covering up some golden ray, 
And the choicest plants in meadows 

'Mid the brambles hid away. 

May we learn to search for treasures 

Where the heaviest billows roll, 
Never moaning for lost pleasures 

That will not enrich the soul. 

For the shadows and the sunshine 

That now flicker o'er our way 
Are the threads that God is weaving 

Into garlands for that day, 

When each victor from the battle 

Will be called to take and wear 
Crowns that Christ's own blood has purchased, 

Crowns that must be worn while here. 



34 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 



THE VOICE OF JESUS. 

I have heard the voice of Jesus 

Speaking softly to my soul, 
And that voice is never sweeter 

Than when tempests round me roll. 

When the fiercest storms are raging, 
Shutting out each human sound, 

Then my head is pillowed softly 
On his bosom soft as down. 

Let me hear thy voice, my Saviour, 
While I w r alk life's tangled vale; 

Let me hear it in the valley, 
When all earthly aid must fail 

Let my spirit yield obedience 
To thy voice from day to day ; 

Let thy signal be my watchword, 
Let me never answer, nay. 

Onward then I'll move in triumph 
Till I reach the promised land, 

Till I hear thy voice, my Saviour, 

Greet me mid the blood-washed band. 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 35 



TRUSTING. 

It comes, the New Year, just unfolding 
To the world its stainless page ; 

What will be its last unrolling, 
What its impress on the age ? 

All ! I cannot lift the curtain, 
Cannot peer the mystic veil, 

Cannot see the heavy burden 

That might make my courage fail. 

But I can, O blessed Father, 

Give my trembling hand to thee; 

Clasp it, hold it if I falter 
When my way I cannot see. 

In new pathways I am stepping, 

Seeking only for the light ; 
Let me ne'er be found relenting, 

Though I ofttimes find the night. 

For it may be thy good pleasure 
Thus to lead me through the gloom. 

That I may find richer treasure 
When I pass beyond the tomb. 



36 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 



I KNOW NOT THE DAY. 

I know not the day, but there will come 
A hush so still in my narrow home, 
And all that is mortal shall find repose 
That ne'er can be broken by friends or foes. 

No matter how loudly the storms may rave 

Around that lone spot, the silent grave, 

The ear will be dull to every sound 

That will break on the silence above that mound. 

The springtime and flowers will be just the same 
As the cold, blighting winter with its sleet and its rain. 
Though one will be bringing its birds and its bees, 
To warble and hum in the lullaby breeze, 

The other will pile its deep drifting snow 
O'er the bed where the mortal is sleeping below, 
And the pulseless heart no longer can give 
One tender expression to those who may grieve. 

Nor never again can a look or a word 

Smite through the soul like a sharp-cutting sword, 

Nor heed in that silent chamber of death 

The tenderest words that may then be expressed. 

Though once the same words would have lightened 

the care 
And cheered amid sorrows so hard to bear, 
And gilded with soft tinted touches of gold 
The dark, rayless clouds that shadowed the soul, 



DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 37 

And kind loving words might have broken the spell 
That saddened the heart like a funeral knell, 
A smile might have made the dark, starless night 
All radiant with beauty and effulgent with light. 

It will matter not then, for that quiet sleep 
Will ne'er be disturbed by those who may weep; 
The lip and the brow mid the damps of the tomb 
Shall have caught the bright halo of eternity's bloom. 

It will be but the casket that shall lie there so still, 
For the soul in its rapture, that so oft was filled 
With the sweet peace of God, shall have found its 

true home 
In the presence of Jesus hard by the great throne. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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